A three AM phone call about a locked room changed everything

things right,” Stacey said. “He keeps saying we just need a clean slate.”

“He has a very specific idea of what a clean slate looks like,” I said.

The coffee shop on the corner of Third Street was loud at eleven o’clock the next morning. The smell of burnt espresso and wet umbrellas filled the small room, and the bell above the door jangled every time continue reading …